Permanent and Forever
Title: Permanent and Forever
Rating: G
Coupling: Mild VashxWolf
Warnings: Original characters, majorly OOC Vash, majorly uke-fied Wolfwood....
Notes: AAAAAH! PLOT BUNNY ATTACK! Okay, reasons?
Because I like angst, and because I've never written VxW before and want
to try. Because I listened to Mrs. Robinson too many times, and somehow
that inspired this fic (the hell?)... Because.....cause.

Now that this is out of my head, maybe 'To Love a Lie' can come along.

~~~~

"Why are we stopping here? We have to make twenty more iles before
sundown," Wolfwood frowned from behind his sunglasses, staring around the
small town Vash had selected. They had been traveling non-stop since
morning, and the priest had been none too pleased when Vash had announced
a very necessary detour.

Vash glanced over the side car's rim, his form lank and relaxed as the
wind wafted by, slower than usual. The steamy heat of the day was
at it's peak, and the town seemed almost deserted, shades drawn and fans
humming in the afternoon air - their whirling blades were the only sign
of life on the quiet streets.

His expression was thoughtful, and he didn't respond. "One....two....three.
Park in front of the third house."

Wolfwood grimaced, but obeyed. "Bah. I need a smoke."

He did, too, and as soon as the bike was parked broad fingers were picking
their way through his coat and selecting a cigarette -

"No, Wolfwood."

"What? Why?"

"His lungs aren't so good. Smoking'll make him cough. Please?"
Vash said, eyes hidden behind the orange of his sunglasses. He looked
so damned miasmatic (and sexy) that Wolfwood immediately fumbled the cigarette
and had to brush the sand off of it before returning it to his pocket.

"Whatever," he muttered, and looked away. Sulking, yes, but Vash
had no right to deprive him of cigarettes!

Vash was on the doorstep then, peering down at the mat - embroidered
with a smiling cat face, black with luminous eyes. For a moment he
seemed to catch his breath and round up his courage, then knocked twice
on the door and stepped back.

Nobody answered for a few moments, as Wolfwood shifted nervously and
again suppressed the urge for a smoke, then - "Yes....oh! Oh!
Vash?!"

The woman who opened the door was young, with dirty brown-blonde hair
pinned up at the nape of her neck. Strands of it fell in her eyes,
which were a wide, brilliant green. "You're back!"

Wolfwood had seen Vash get tackle-hugged by enthusiastic admirers before,
but this seemed different. The blonde opened his arms, and the girl
melted into them, her face pressed gently against the front of his overbearing
red coat as if he was the only bastion of strength she had ever known.
They stayed for a few moments, then Vash smiled into her hair and pushed
her back, hands on each of her shoulders. "Rayia, you're growing
up.... Look at you, as beautiful as your mother. May I come in?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Dad's in the living room, why don't you
go see him?" There was a long pause, thick with unspoken fears.
"He's.....a lot worse."

"I figured, that's why I came."

Rayia nodded, looking blatantly relieved, then shook her head helplessly.
"Since mom died, he's just been so sad... you'll cheer him up, though.
He's been talking about you, lately, it's odd that you should show up!
I'll put some tea on - oh, but who's your friend?"

"This is Wolfwood, a traveling priest," Vash murmured, and Wolfwood
raised one hand in a half-wave of greeting. The woman nodded warmly
to him, her eyes reading quite plainly that if he was a friend of Vash's,
Wolfwood would always be welcome.

The inside of the house was dark and not much cooler than the outdoors,
but the breeze was a good deal stronger, thanks to the fans stacked in
all quarters, placed anywhere they would fit to drive away the deadly heat.
Vash followed Rayia in and took an immediate right, poking his head into
the room, then glancing at Wolfwood over his shoulder. "Nick, could
I have a moment alone?"

"Er....yeah. I'll go flirt with that nice lady," Wolfwood grinned
unabashedly, and Vash flashed him what might have been a look of annoyance.
Vash, annoyed? What was going on?

~~~~

The room was dark, a fan was humming, and static, occasionally bursting
into soft music, spilled forth from a radio in the corner. Bright
green eyes gazed at Vash through the shadows, and when the outlaw stepped
in the room, they were filled with something somewhere between anger and
excitement.

A frail body, far too old for the brilliant eyes that blinked twice.
"Vash? Is that really you?"

"Sure is. May I come in, Holt?"

The man nodded reluctantly, and Vash walked in, the area seeming lighter
and happier with the simple presence of his long, flowing coat. "Still
in red?" He asked.

A nod. "Of course."

Silence. "Mei is dead."

"Rayia told me," Vash ran his fingers through his hair and settled down
in the sagging chair next to Holt, his coat rustling softly. "When?"

The old man looked away. "Two months ago. Today."

"I..." Vash paused a moment, then folded his sunglasses and slipped
them into a pocket. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here. I loved
her very much."

"I want to die," the man answered, throwing his head back as Vash started
to protest. A creaky, wheezing sound scraped forth, leaving the blonde
speechless at what could only be a laugh. "No, no, don't protest.
I know every life is valuable, and I know better than anyone that our ticket
to the future is blank. I know more about her than I do about my
own mother."

A flash of hurt. "But Holt-"

"I've lived my life, Vash! I've been married, lived longer than
I should, and now... Now I'm ready," Wrinkles lifted up into a heavy smile,
and the creases around Holt's eyes seemed to double in depth.

"If you're going to ask me to let you die, I won't," Vash's voice was
fierce. "You should live for years an year to come, Holt-"

"In this failing body? I was given a mind that would never age,
but my skin and bones? Surely you wouldn't live like this if you
had a choice. I'm just waiting for my heart to give out, and the
anticipation is - killing me," more dry laughter. "Who's your friend?"
Vash glanced up as the door gave a telltale creak, and Wolfwood's sheepish
eyes could be seen from the hallway - his expression remained neutral.
"That's Wolfwood. Come on in, Nick."

Wolfwood did enter, looking around with blank eyes, then nodded respectfully
to the old one in the corner. "Holt, I presume? Pleased to
meet you." Holt met the greeting with an incline of his snow-crowned
head and smiled weakly.

"You always had good taste in 'friends', Vash."

The outlaw replied stiffly before breaking into a smile, "I like to
think so, too."

~~~~

It had been five hours, and the suns were starting to set. One was halfway
down and the other was closing the gap quickly - the discussions that had
been battled back and forth during the day were given up, and Rayia washed
the teacups out in favor of whiskey that made her father wheeze with delight.

The moons rose. "You know," Holt murmured, "that hole in the Fifth
one - was it really you? We heard rumors, but I didn't know what
to believe."

"That's Mister Vash for you - but he does it with such style, who can
blame him?"

"Style? This big lug?" Wolfwood thumped Vash on the back,
and the blonde choked on his drink, spewing a bit out of his nose.
For a moment they were a ball of wrestling red-and-black, then Rayia spattered
both of them with sand and grinned as Wolfwood began frantically dusting
it out of his hair.

"Hey, easy on the threads, pretty lady," he laughed. It was comfortable
here, with Vash and these people - how come when he was with the outlaw,
places could seem like home? It was mind boggling.

"I'll thank you kindly not to flirt with my daughter," Holt's voice
was scratchy, but his humor good. "Especially not in front of your
boyfriend!"

"My- MY-"

As Wolfwood spluttered, Vash slung an arm around his neck and kissed
him above the ear. "You know you love it," he teased, and Wolfwood
relented, still shocked by the second guessing.

"How'd you know?" he asked, plaintively.

Holt just smiled, satisfied with himself as he glanced from one gunman
to the other. The moons rose a bit more and they drank in silence.
"It's late, don't you think? Dad, you ought to turn in. It's
getting cool out here."

"Feels good," Holt murmured, closing his eyes. "Feels like it
always felt when I was young. Some things never change."

His eyes raked across Vash's face, and the blonde smiled almost apologetically,
his response a bit forced. "No, some things never do."

It took a collective effort on the parts of Rayia and Vash to get Holt
safely to his feet, and when the old man had tottered into the house, Vash
followed closely. In the hallway he embraced both the man and his
daughter, kissing each on the forehead. "Take your usual room, Rayia
whispered, "I changed the sheets and swept."

"You're a dear," Vash smiled, and Wolfwood sidled up next to him, nodding
a goodnight to each in turn. "Sweet dreams, Holt."

Holt smiled, eyes a bit far-off. "Goodnight, Vash. Thank
you for coming tonight. I only wish Mei could have seen you one more
time.... She missed you, a lot." he trailed off as Rayia kissed him
again and started down the musty hallway. Once she was safely
gone, he stared challengingly up at Vash with the air of someone who was
once as tall, proud, and selfless as the gunman himself. "I missed
you, you know."

Wolfwood felt like he was intruding on matters far over his head and
began to escape, though Vash caught his hand and snaked their fingers together,
a silent and rare request for support. "I'm sorry. Holt..."
Vash's voice was trembling, the old man was wiping something out of the
corners of his eyes. "I... I'm just sorry."

Silence, until Vash's voice broke as he continued.

"If I could change...if I can change one thing, this would be it."

"I know that," the elderly man flashed Vash a weak grin, his teeth yellow
and crooked. There was a scar on the left side of his neck, and his
balding head sported other gashes, marks of a difficult life. "You
love me, and you love Rayia, don't you? And..." A long pause,
"....you loved....her?"

Holt nodded, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as he regarded
Vash's lithe form. "That's enough, then. We don't need any
more than that, after all. You never did."

"No, I never did," Vash's voice was almost trembling, his eyes sad.
"Will you sleep now?"

"I'll be there when you wake up," Holt murmured, and Vash nodded.

"Thank you. Goodnight, Holt."

"Goodnight, Vash."

The door closed with a click.

~~~~

Wolfwood found himself rooming with Vash in an almost-bare upper floor
of the house, with one bed and a futon spread out across the floor in the
puddles formed by moonlight above. They took the bed, and when they
were awoken the next morning from their comfortable tangle of limbs, Rayia
was sobbing and crying, pressing her face into Vash's neck, Wolfwood didn't
know what to think..

"Rayia? What's wrong?" Vash asked softly, although Wolfwood
could read his expression, and realized his partner had already guessed.

"It's dad...he..."

They buried him in the hills above the house, where the sands were less
likely to shift and bury the make-shift marker, a wooden cross that would
be temporary, until a suitable stone one could be found. Wolfwood
was called upon to say a prayer, which he did with some discomfort - though
the small group that had collected assured him it was more than suitable,
since he was Vash's friend, and Vash was such a close friend to the family.

They mentioned he had been dropping by for longer than anyone could
remember, like a stray puppy occasionally wandering home, for so long that
questions were no longer asked.

Surprisingly enough, Vash didn't want to stay another night, even when
the villagers begged. He kissed Rayia firmly in apology and then
elected to get away from the house as soon as possible, though by the time
they left the suns were already going down.

Camp. A small fire. A large sleeping roll. Common,
everyday things that seemed somehow strange that night to both members
of the two man team. Wolfwood stared long and hard at Vash's expression,
outlined and highlighted in the flickering firelight, trying to draw his
thoughts into the open and discover what the encounter had been all about,
searching with desperate hands for one more cigarette, though he seemed
to have misplaced his pack.

When his staring proved fruitless, he asked. "Vash, who was Holt
McCoy?"

A long pause.

"My son." Vash closed his eyes for a moment, and the priest crept
closer to him in the dark - a moment later he was wrapped in Vash's arms,
and the blonde gunman had securely nestled his chin against Wolfwood's
shoulder - it felt good against the cool of the night.

"You.... You don't know what it's like," Vash whispered. "To live
so long. To watch people you know and love wither and died.
Holt died, yesterday he was a baby. You will die, and today will
be a dream, and I'll be alone again.... Mortality is..."

"Necessary," Wolfwood whispered.

"I wanted something permanent, Wolfwood. I wanted a son to return
to, so I forced my heart open, as if loving a woman would fix all of my
problems. It didn't, and when I was found out, she was killed.
That was...ninety years ago... Nothing is permanent, Holt was wrong.
Things will always change."

Wolfwood stared at the being outside of time, and shook his head. "You're
still you."

"No..." Vash's eyes closed, and he sighed softly, the breath tickling
the crescent of Wolfwood's ear. "I ceased to be myself years ago.
I can't go back - nor do I want to."

A gentle kiss, and a smile, despite the conversation. "Wolfwood,
even the moons have scars."

"Then that will never change."

"What?"

"The scars. Permanent and forever, scars."

"Wolfwood?"

"Yes, tongari?"

"Take my knife."

Wolfwood did, and blinked as Vash began shucking his elaborate coat
to the ground - he paused with it at his elbows, and tilted his head, hair
falling lazily in his eyes. "Right there, on my collar bone."

The knife cut as deeply as Wolfwood could press without striking bone,
and he dragged it up, then down, then left and right, leaving a semblance
of a cross just above Vash's heart. Thin and perfect.

When the bleeding had stopped, Vash seemed satisfied to curl up and
fall asleep, one more memory carved into the flesh of his soul.